


I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight

by foreignmen



Category: The Outsiders (1983), The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Sex, Cheating, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drunk Sex, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Family, Gay Male Character, Greasers, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sad with a Happy Ending, Secret Relationship, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Underage Rape/Non-con, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unsafe Sex, no beta we die like men, soc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:20:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25625068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreignmen/pseuds/foreignmen
Summary: “You are coming down with me- hand in unlovable hand.”ORAfter getting into an unhealthy and abusive relationship, Ponyboy slowly but surely decends down into a darkness from which he may never escape with waking eyes.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Ponyboy Curtis/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve gotten a few ideas prepared for this fic so if you guys want more please let me know! Any ideas of what you want to happen in the story are welcomed!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not edited! 
> 
> Any ideas of what you’d like to happen in this fic are welcome, please comment them below

"I promise I'll never do it again" is the most bullshit statement ever spoken by man and I internally despise myself for believing it one too many times. If I had the option to go back in time, the day it began, I would've been less naive, been wiser; at least wise enough to not fall for it when he said he loved me because I know, now that is, that he never truly did- he just said it so I'd stay, so I wouldn't come to my senses and run off to someone more deserving of my time, my love and affection. If he really did love me like he said so many times before, then I wouldn't be here on the floor of my bedroom, imagining what it would be like to put the cold barrel against my head as my sweaty finger pulled the trigger, blasting my brains out of my head and onto the hardwood floor. 

But I would never do that, though, even though words cannot express how badly I want things to end, how badly I wish for my miserable existence to cease. I couldn't do that to Darry or Soda or whoever finds me. That image would stick in their heads forever- the one of a shell of a fourteen year old boy with a bright future ahead of him lifeless, the head that would've taken him to Harvard splattered across the floor of the house he'd grown up in. 

However if I were to take my life I'd let it be by the hand of Midas, beautiful and without a word. By this I mean swallowing a bottle of pills while I creep slowly into my bedsheets, falling into an eternal asleep aware that I am free from my pain and crippling nostalgia for better days as they are now here in my nirvana or wherever I should go; I stopped believing in god a lifetime ago.

I know they would be sad and that they may never get over it, but I've reached the point where, in all my selfishness, I frankly don't care. They'll cry but it won't change the fact that I've put a bullet between my eyes. They'll be sad for a while but get on and accept their grief as part of daily life and move on; maybe get a job, have kids, buy a new house far away from this town and never look back- at least that's what I would do.

After that when it's time they put me six feet under, I want to be buried in California by the beach, so I can listen to the waves brush gently against the shore from my grave, easing me into that eternal sleep that I crave. I wish in this life I'd gone to California, my toes in the sand, but I guess it's too late for that- I won't live to see that. Maybe they'll go, the gang, that is. Maybe they'll move there so they could be closer to me; I don't know them like I wish I did enough to guess.

If younger me saw what he'd become in the small of just a few years or months, I think he'd have just stared and ask me, “Why?” I’d shrug, I’m not quite sure how I ended up here either. He’d probably pull the trigger himself, end it early before he became this pathetic of a person. 

I hate this.


End file.
